The Perfect Weapon Chapter 7 Part 3 section 2

[camillecarelli]

She had always been honestly, amazingly possessive - it was not an amusing game when she exhibited it.  He had viewed it as another 'flaw' like her endless analysis of him that he had at first found irritating, then endearing, a sign of her emotional investment in him.  And he was possessive too, just how possessive she had yet to find out because he hid it so well - considered it a darkness he needed to keep from her, so he had always viewed it privately as just one more way they were linked.  And he had not known himself, to be honest.  They had taught each other many lessons. He hoped she had forgotten some along the way.

"She's, hmm, let's see," he  had said then in response to her query, grabbing her around the waist for a hug, swinging her around him. "My wife - she's unique, special, the most amazing woman ever?"

"Good recovery, Bristow," she said impishly and gave his shoulder a nip before pushing him away.  "But, we need to get back to work. Dave can help since he's early, as always." More quietly, she whispered in his ear, "Um, you may want to clean that counter, where…you know…."

"Yeah," he said with a gleam in his eye, "And crush some more ice."  He laughed as she slapped him on the butt.

As the three of them worked in the kitchen, Dave asked, "Laura? What did Jack bring you back this time? My girlfriend is jealous. He always finds the most unusual jewelry."

"Oh, it's incredible. Look," she said holding it up for him to see. "It's a puzzle box necklace. I love it. Watch. I have the key to it now." And in a flash, she opened the puzzle and showed him the tiny charm.

"Great choice," Dave laughed. "Only Jack, so obsessed with games, would think of that!"

"Well, that's one reason why it's so perfect, why I love it," Laura said, picking up a platter to bring out to the grill, "It's so him. Every time I see it, I'll think of him and his games."  She arched up and kissed his cheek before heading out the door.

"Puzzle box necklace…Oh, we saw those that time in - was it Damascus?" Dave asked.

"Yeah, I've been looking for one for the longest time. It seems perfect. I never really thought about the game aspect, what you two were saying.  I wanted it for the way a woman's mind works, Laura's. It's like a puzzle, isn't it, with layers upon layers.  Just when you think you've reached the center, there's another layer. An endless puzzle."

"Ha! That's why you were so successful with women. You viewed them like a puzzle. And the problem was that as soon as you solved it, you lost interest. But Laura - almost as complex as you are - you'll never lose interest because you can't solve the puzzle."  Irina - almost as complex as he? No, he was a piker compared to her.

Jack nodded. Laughed and said, "Truer words were never spoken! But honestly," he said loudly, hearing his wife approach, "I think part of that puzzle is just figuring out how to keep out of firing range certain days of the month."

He rolled his eyes and then laughed again when he heard Laura call out, "I heard that, Jack Bristow. You are so dead!"

Now, with a jolt he realized how right Dave had been. Laura had always been the most interesting, fascinating woman, no person, he had ever met. Although he knew her, understood her, could usually predict her behavior, he had never felt like he could know everything about her. He had thought that every day there was something new to learn. And part of the puzzle of her, part of the game, part of her fascination for him, had no doubt been the very deception in which she had been engaged.  The layers upon layers of the game's ploys added to her natural complexity had made her irresistible to him. She had been an endless puzzle, with twists and turns and unfathomable depths, that he had thought he could never solve even when they were together.

And after? If he had understood why she had left them - would he have lost interest in her, forgotten, moved on long ago? He wondered, had he been held captive not only by his weakness-- his love, but also what he saw as his strength -- his love of and ability to play the game? His endless desire to analyze and decode encryptions, to solve puzzles, to set up and analyze game theory, had that been a weakness too?  After all,  wasn't the greatest unsolved mystery of his life how "I love you, Jack. I'll love you forever and a day, too" translated into abandonment and twenty years of silence?  She had been the most seductive enigma, their relationship so intriguing, their separation a painful riddle, and now their reunion? It would be the greatest game of his life.  As long as he did not get lost in the game, lost in the spinning of layers upon layers of truths, lies, needs, desires, and regrets he knew full well they could create around each other.

Later, everyone relaxed around the living room. "So," someone asked, "What games tonight?"

"Well, since this party is in my honor," Dave said pompously and then grinned when everyone rolled their eyes, "I get to choose the games." Jack groaned in anticipation. "Shut up, Bristow. I'm going to choose the psych games I learned at that last conference."

"Oh, no. Not one of those idiotic games that is supposed to illuminate the darkest corners of our souls in less than sixty seconds." Jack grinned and changed his voice to imitate an overly-caffeinated television announcer, "And this game, endorsed by Sigmund Freud himself, not only can solve all your problems in less than one minute, but amazingly enough it can also clean fish, play a record album, and be used as a parlor game with family and friends! Ronco presents, only available on television for a limited time…"

"Shut up, Bristow. You won't be joking about this game. You won't even do it. I'll bet you," Dave argued.

Jack shrugged, "You're probably right, I hate those games of yours. And I didn't make anyone play games when I finished my dissertation, let me point out."

"No, you didn't even tell anyone that you had finished and had the dissertation accepted without a formal defense. You jerk, depriving us of a party."

Jack shrugged and looked away. He had not wanted to make an issue, a big deal of it.

"So, Dave, what is it?" someone asked. "I suppose we should listen to you now that you finally have that PhD."

"Oh." Jack said, "We almost forgot to bring out the cake." Laura stood up. "No, honey, sit down and listen to Dr. Dave. He's right, I won't play one of those stupid games of his, so I'll go get everything."

As he left the room, he heard one of Laura's friends whisper to her, "You're so lucky.  My boyfriend - I don't think he even knows where the kitchen is!"

Heard Laura whisper back, "Oh, I'm lucky alright. And the kitchen is one of Jack's favorite rooms," and then giggle. Shaking his head, smiling, he sauntered into the kitchen.

Remembering now, he still could not fathom the depth of her deception. She had deceived everyone, not just him, but everyone. He wondered how you did it 24/7. At least when he had been a double he could come home and if not relax, not be something… fake.

But that was wrong, wrong, he thought, being honest. He had come home and been the worst liar of all. Had acted as if he had little interest in his daughter, when he lived to see her, to hear her, to be with her.  He had been the worst liar of all - lying because of  fear. Although he pretended that was his work that kept him going -- that's what he told Arvin over and over whenever his 'friend' tried to inquire about his welfare --  it was Sydney.

Then he thought about his years as a double agent, working with Sloane. Contemplated which had been worse, working against him before their friendship ended when he recruited Sydney or after? After, definitely.  Because before their friendship ended, he had not had to pretend every moment. Even if he occasionally felt guilt at deceiving a friend, there were moments of relaxation when the personal connection had been there, they had just been friends. After Sloane recruited Sydney, guilt was gone. But oddly, it was more difficult because he could never let down his guard for fear of allowing him to see the contempt.  There could never be a truly natural moment again and that made his work that much more difficult, draining. And if occasionally, he felt the ties of friendship with Sloane, it was not comfortable, but confusing.  That had been far worse.  It was easier to live with guilt than confusion.

But for Laura, her home, their home, their relationship had been the gameboard. Even if Irina and Laura had been the same person for the most part, it must have been…confusing, he thought suddenly. It would have been so very easy to become lost in the game, for the game to become truth, especially if there were real feelings involved. And if there were real feelings involved, there might be guilt as well. Hmm. If he was right, if she had feelings, he could confuse her now, try to add guilt to the mix.  Mix the past and the present and even the future. Mix her needs and desires with her perception of his.  All he had to do now, was keep gathering the ingredients, keep mixing and sharpen that knife while waiting for the dough to rise.

Bringing the cake out to the living room, he was astonished to see his friends performing some bizarre rite of standing with their backs to another person and falling, waiting for the other to catch them.

"Um, Dave, what the hell?" he asked, setting the plates down before going back into the kitchen for more beer.

Beer and cake…what gourmets they had been, he remembered fondly. But then again, at least Laura could bake a cake from a mix by then. Her skills had increased somewhat from the days when all she could make was toast.  He was still hopeless in the kitchen, He could make nothing, not even toast. Especially toast. Especially since he did not even own a toaster.

"It's a trust game," Laura said laughing, watching as one of their friend hesitated over and over about letting her boyfriend, one she'd jokingly insulted earlier, catch her.  The boyfriend teased her about payback every time she turned her back to him.  Eventually she let go and he caught her. They laughed and he turned around to let her catch him, the insults clearly forgiven and forgotten as the jokes they were.

"It's a trust game. That's why you won't do it, Jack," Dave said quietly so his voice did not carry. "We all know about your trust issues."

Laura protested, "Trust issues? What are you talking about? Jack has no problem trusting. Of course, he'll do it. Why wouldn't he?"

She had been so blind. She had not wanted to see. And he abetted her confusion, had hidden the truth from her. He had hidden his deep ambivalence over trusting from her, not wanting to hurt her. But if he was honest, he had his own reasons for hiding from her. People who hid secrets had layers with multiple agendas. Another lesson learned.  Another one he hoped she had forgotten.

Dave's eyebrows rose up nearly into his hair. "Jack has no problem….You think so? I'll make a bet with you, Laura. If Jack agrees to do it and then falls back on the first try into your arms, then I'll owe you…a weekend at my family's cabin at the lake.  Remember how you two liked it so much? Remember the midnight swim you two…Oops."

Laura turned red. "Dave, you didn't see…"

"No. All I saw was Jack's bare ass, nothing else. My girlfriend and I had the same idea, but as usual, Bristow staked the territory out first," he whispered.

Jack rolled his eyes and grinned.  Laura turned a sharp glance in his direction, "Did you know he had come out of the cabin?"

"Maybe," He laughed as his wife gave him a dirty look.  "But, I knew he'd turn right around. After all, he wouldn't want his girlfriend to be able to compare--Ow!" he exclaimed laughingly as Dave punched his arm, "Hey, you know me - " he shrugged unconcernedly.

"Sometimes, Jack, I wonder about you.  How you got to have so few inhibitions…" Laura said, staring at him.

"Are you complaining?" Jack asked, grinning, willing to talk about almost anything to forestall this ridiculous game.

"Jack, stop trying to change the subject," Laura said with a grin of her own. "I know your tactics. Whenever all else fails, use sex to distract."

Hmm. It had always worked in the past, at least when they had been alone together. Hmm.  How could he arrange that? Sydney was here with them now, so it would have to be later. He certainly couldn't seduce her in that cell or let her seduce him; he had changed enough to not want Kendall to see his bare ass at this point.  How to get her out of that cell? How to manipulate the situation to achieve his goals?

But then, she had been working to manipulate him to do what she wanted. That stupid game. That stupid, revealing game. That he had been blind, stupid enough not to see for what it was - the truth.

"So, the cabin - all for you two, some summer weekend…" Dave offered temptingly.

"And what do you get if Jack and I can't play this game correctly on the first try?" Laura asked, rubbing her chin speculatively.

"Let's see. I could… I know, I get Jack for ten sessions of analysis," Dave said with an evil grin. "I could write another dissertation, or definitely a paper at least, on how his mind works."

"Hello? Don't I have to agree to this? Let me inform you both that I have no intention whatsoever of participating in this ridiculous farce. In fact, I am astonished, Dave, that you would lend any credence to what is clearly an example of the worst kind of psychobabble with no basis in research and whose results cannot be tested by the most basic of scientific methods. And furthermore---"

Laura stared at him in astonishment, puzzled he could tell by the use of  that defense mechanism. "Jack," Dave said quietly, "I can tell that you feel…threatened by this game. So don't do it, okay?"

"I was just teasing you." he said quickly, appalled at how he had let his feelings show.

"But you're right - I hate these games. I don't want to do it, and you--" he nodded at his wife. Laura was now smiling again, having accepted his words at face value.

He had realized even then that she had so easily accepted his lame excuse because she did not understand his emotions.  They had not fit within her idea of the man he had been, so she conveniently ignored them. Then and now she had possessed the same attribute of self-deception.  Something else they had in common that night.

But then, he had tried to distract her, fearful that she would see the truth, by saying, "We can find some other way to get a weekend at the cabin out of Dave. Like the next time we play cards. We don't need to play this idiotic game that I am sure he found in an Archie comic, not at a psych conference."

"If you don't do it, I win," Dave said laughing, also willing to help ease the tension. "I can't wait to get you on my couch."

"I am in a no-win situation here," Jack said, rolling his eyes, trying again to hide his extreme discomfort, the same kind of instinct that told any animal to fight or flee.

If only he had paid more attention to his instincts, the same instincts that warned of an ambush….but he had never expected, nor would have believed, one would happen in the living room of his own home.  Only at the time, he had not realized what had happened. He had been in the dark, refusing to see what was in front of him. Or rather, behind him.

"I'll go first!" Laura offered. Presenting her back to him, suddenly with no warning she just toppled backwards. He grabbed at her, caught her in a firm grasp, laughing, "Laura! You needed to give me more notice!"

"Oh, I knew you'd catch me," she smiled.  Then reaching up to kiss his cheek, she whispered, "You always catch me, remember?"

Smiling down at her, feeling her lips still on his cheek, he had decided he was being ridiculous. It was just a stupid game. Turn around and just do it, he told himself. Everyone else had been chattering and laughing, playing that stupid game.  He had felt foolish that he been unaccountably nervous about standing with his back to Laura. Had told himself again that he was being ridiculous, that it was just another one of Dave's stupid games.  Turning to look at Laura, he said, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm a lot bigger than you are. Can you even hold me up when you catch me?"

"Of course I can," she laughed. "What's wrong with you? Stop delaying. I want that weekend at Dave's cabin. And I know you don't want to have to make a visit to Dave's couch. Not that he even has one in that dump he calls his apartment."

"Dump? I'll have you know that my cockroaches are the best crumbs can buy!" Dave protested, keeping an eye on Jack's face.  As Dave and Laura and then some other friends bantered back and forth about Dave's truly-horrible new apartment - Jack would not even let Laura step one foot in there - he walked over to his seat and drank some of his beer, watching them, made the decision to go ahead with the game. How hard could it be to fall backwards into his wife's arms, after all?

And actually the falling, like the relinquishing of control in her bed, had not been that difficult. It was the aftermath that was torture.

"Okay, okay, you two. I'm ready. Let's get this over with," he said finally.

Standing with his back to Laura, he looked over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked.

"You bet," she said smiling impishly. He gave her a glare and she smoothed out her face.

"Laura---" Dave said warningly, but it was too late. Jack had already taken a deep breath and forced his body to drop backwards. Even then, the seconds had seemed like hours - Dave, he thought at that moment, was right, he did have trust issues - waiting for her to catch him. At the exact moment when he estimated that she should catch him he felt her step back and then seconds later, after his muscles had tensed for a fall, grabbed him, laughing.

He whirled around, said quietly in a low tone that should have been a warning, "I cannot believe---"

"Gotcha!" Laura said, laughing. "That's what you get! Payback!"

"Oh, my god!" A woman laughed, "The look on his face, Laura! That was good. He thought you were going to let him drop!"

In a flicker, he changed the rage he felt beginning to contort his face to the mask.  Dave covered for him, calling out to someone else that it was their turn, while Jack walked over to his beer and upended it into his mouth. He saw Dave whisper something to Laura, watched her face become puzzled. Told himself to shut down the anger, smooth out hs face, compartmentalize quickly, quickly.

She walked over and tugged on his arm as he looked over her head. "Jack, I…Dave said I should apologize....."

He looked down at her earnest face and saw the confusion in her eyes. Forced himself to relax. She had not meant to tap into his fears, did not even realize what was wrong.  Then heard what she said, 'Dave said I should apologize."

"So, go ahead," he said, letting his mouth quirk upward. "Go ahead. Let's hear you apologize. It happens so seldom." He was determined to distract her from ascertaining more about those trust issues of his by going on the offensive.

"That's not true, I---" she protested.

"You don't like apologizing, Laura. You always say, 'I will apologize if you want' or 'I guess I should apologize.' If you say anything. But the words 'I'm sorry" - how often have I ever actually heard them leave your lips? Instead you use those lips later to crawl all over me and show me that you're sorry, don't you? Is that what I have to anticipate later tonight?"

She gasped in outrage, then amusement. "You know me too well. But Jack, I know you don't like those games of Dave's and I should not have teased you into them. I wanted to pay you back for your little game earlier. I thought you'd see what I was up to. I thought you would think it was funny. You always do."

When she stopped he heard himself say, "I hate those games of his and you teased me into them. Then didn't…."

"Catch you? But I did, eventually. What's really the matter? Wait -- is it that you didn't predict that I'd do that?"

He forced himself to relax further, to smile, to loosen his muscles, as he realized she had handed him a convenient excuse.  Later he realized that he also had handed her a reason to feel pride at beating him at both the game he knew they were playing and the one of which he was ignorant. Like a blind fool. But then, before he could agree, she asked, "Or is it that time of the month for you?"

He smiled, a real smile. She had always known how to tease him out of a bad mood. He had always let her.

"I guess it's my turn to be irrational," Jack quipped, picking up her cue to lighten the moment, "But, you're right. You got me.  I didn't predict that you would not catch me when I fell. You win. I was just mad about losing that game. Sorry I acted like a baby." He reached out and squeezed her waist with one hand, sifted his other hand through the dark fall of her hair. She smiled, kissed him, ran her fingers through his hair, nudged his shoulder with hers until he wrapped an arm around her.

She had easily accepted his apology for his temper, the excuse that it was all about losing one of their little games. It made sense, after all. It fit in with her perception of him, the personality profile she'd constructed in her head. With his help. And the KGB's analyst, no doubt.

Swallowing hard on his own guilt at his unjustifiable reaction, he had forced himself to accept her non-apology, later on that night would gladly accept her caresses as proof of her remorse, had responded as she wanted. He had accepted her failure to catch him and her failure to see his true emotions as justified.  After all, he had hidden his 'trust issues' from her, so why should she have known?  So, he accepted her behavior as just a  bad joke on her part, a quirk of the game. She was his wife, he had chosen her, loved her, trusted her; she gave him everything, she deserved to be loved, trusted. Believed that the game had not revealed anything, that of course it could not. It fit in with his perception of her, created with her help. Forgiveness had never been his strong suit, but he told himself he was being ridiculous, that the problem was his, not hers.  Told himself to just forget the incident. That it was meaningless. He had forgotten, momentarily, that the most significant moments in life, the most important moments of a game, sometimes happen completely under the table.

She had probably forgotten all about her failure to catch him, he thought now. The interchange between them had made no sense if you did not understand his problem trusting and she had a habit of ignoring what did not fit into her plan.

If she remembered that night at all it was probably the lovemaking after everyone had left.

She had pushed him down on the couch and climbed on top, straddling him. Holding his face in her hands, she had kissed him softly at first, almost tentatively, perhaps on some level comprehending how loose the tether between them was, relatively speaking, on this night.  Then as he began to respond, to fall into her again, to allow her to tighten that tether, she became more aggressive, more confident and began to undress him.  When he reached up his hands to pull off her clothes, she lifted her lips and stood between his legs. "No, watch," she told him.  Slowly removing her halter, dragging it across the tips of her breasts, she watched his face. Tossing it aside, she then reached for the button of her shorts.  He hissed in a breath as he saw the chain around her waist emerge as the shorts lowered.

"When?" he asked.

"Hmm. Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased.  But before he could say anything, she reassured him, "Just a few minutes ago."

"Good," he said firmly, giving her a look, not willing to accede any more points to her this night.

"But you like it, right now, don't you?"

"That's a stupid question, as you can see," he quipped, gesturing downward.  "Come over here," he said, putting one finger inside the chain and pulling her over on top of him.

Pulling her head down to his, he was surprised when she murmured, "No.  It's my turn."

"It is?" he asked honestly puzzled. Where were they in the game? He had lost track of the score somehow tonight.

"My turn to give to you. You always prefer to give rather than receive, Jack. But remember, I need to make it up to you? Remember how I like to do that?" She had asked as she moved her lips, her hands, down his body.  Falling into her game, her version of an apology, he had forgiven her, just as she intended.  He had not forgotten as he had assumed then, but he had let it go as she kissed him, caressed him, licked him wherever she could reach, turning him over, then over again.  She had wrapped herself around him, touched him everywhere until he was gasping, told him over and over again of her feelings for him. But then she had become almost frantic in her movements designed, he knew, to push him over the edge quickly, to break his control. Trying, he knew, to break through the shell, soft as it was, that anger had erected around him. He had been surprised that she could even sense it, confused by her soft intensity, unable now to concentrate for trying to understand, once again, the puzzle of her mind.

Reaching out a gentle hand, he ran it down her hair, her back, whispered, "Laura, it's okay. Relax. You know I never stay mad at you for long. It's over. Truly." She had nodded, but still said nothing, just bent her head and kissed his thigh, but still did not look at him. He said, trying to reach her, "I can't hold onto my anger with you. I love you."

As if those two statements were mutually exclusive, as if they could not both exist as truths. He had since learned better. But then he had been so ignorant of the layers of love. It had all seemed so simple, clear.  If you loved someone you could not stay angry at them, he had thought. As if the person for whom you could feel the greatest love was also not the person who could inspire the greatest, deepest anger.

Tilting her face up to his, he, told her, "Shh, Laura, it's okay.  It's my problem, not yours. That competitive streak has run amok," he tried to joke, to distract her from the truth that she seemed to be sensing on some level.

When she gave him a lopsided smile, he thought that it might be best to avoid the vortex of the emotional entanglements that their lovemaking inevitably wrought, "Maybe we should not do this right now, maybe we should just hold each other tonight?" When she shook her head and pulled at him with her hands, her body, her mouth, he responded to her unspoken request, the urgency in her to make a connection, gave her what she wanted. Finally, breathing heavily, he asked her, "What's the matter, honey? Tell me." When she did not answer, just resumed touching him with an almost desperate fervency, he took her hands and kissed the palms, held them to his face.  "I love you. Just do what you want. You have control."

She sighed deeply and her shoulders relaxed.  But when she pulled her hands free, caressed his body, and then bent her head between his legs, he moaned and arched his back, "Laura, c'mon, I want us to be together."

"Let me catch you this time. No tricks, no game, just us. Fall for me and I'll catch you. I promise."

"I…" he said, could think of nothing else to say, staring at the heat in her eyes.

"I feel like a lost you a little tonight, Jack. I don't understand, but I want…I love you."

"I understand," he said, knowing how they both reveled in, depended upon their physical connection to deepen the tether between them. "Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I trust you. I told you before, you have control."  Her passion, her emotions - all so real he had though -- had made his head spin, had swept him away into what he had thought was the circle of their love.  Seeing that, feeling that, he had truly forgiven her.  Or thought he had.  But at the end, he had pulled her up his body, on top of him, reached his hand down to touch her, wanting to ensure that they were together. When she asked why, he said simply, "I don't want to fall without you. We can catch each other."  As she moved on him that night, he had reached out and rubbed the puzzle box pendant across her breasts, then felt it wedge like a hard nugget between them as she fell on top of him, unable to support her own weight. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.

They had never said another word about the end of that night. For years he had buried the memory under so many others, layers upon layers, it had just become lost in the vortex of their emotional entanglement, part of it, but hidden, best forgotten.  He thought he had forgotten, just as she must have.

But years later, when he discovered the truth, one of the very first memories that spilled like a torrent, that rushed like a tornado through his mind, loud, endless, discordant, making him bend over in pain, clutching his ears to stop the sounds, had been the memory of that moment when he had thought she was going to let him fall. Some part of his mind or his instincts had remembered, stored away that moment, so that when the truth was revealed, the memory returned in an instant, like a slap.  To warn him. To get control of the situation.

Too bad the slap, the warning, came years too late.

Chapter 7: Part 4

Like a slap stopping his freefall into wishful thinking, like a hook pulling him out of the vortex, reality smashed, crashed him onto solid ground.  He stopped walking for a second, astonished by his own failure, his own weakness. Irina and Sydney stared at him until he shook himself and kept walking.  He saw them glance at each other, but ignored it, using all his energy to focus his concentration on the game, to learn from his own failures.

Like a slap, like a crash, he realized now that he had fallen prey to Irina's weakness of self-delusion earlier that day.  When he had thought she had wanted him to follow her when she left, to catch her.  That was just wishful thinking. And a projection of his own desires, his own behavior, onto her. Because he could not imagine leaving Laura forever voluntarily, he had imagined that she had done the same. Had imagined that the whole betrayal was just another game. A ridiculous, stupid game.  Something minor in the scheme of things, just as he had convinced himself that her failure to catch him in Dave's stupid game had just been an understandable error of judgment on her part, that she had not understood how it would hurt him.

Fool. Fool. He wanted to smack himself. For that moment of self-delusion he had actually trusted her.  That betrayal had been no game, unless, of course, you wanted to consider match point a part of the game instead of the end. And that level of self-delusion was…sick. Sick and weak and unacceptable.  He should know better. Did know better. Now.

Then, then he had chosen to fall, made a conscious choice to step into nothingness. To trust that she would catch him. He had chosen to trust when he had been afraid to do so, shamed by her willingness to enter a freefall with no net. He had not come naturally to him to trust someone as completely as she had or seemed to. He had had to make a conscious choice to do so. Had that been a reflection of his basic character, as he had thought for so long? Or in part at least, had it been a reflection of some unconscious knowledge that he was missing a piece of the puzzle, that a rung on the ladder out of the abyss was missing? Or was he giving his instincts far too much credit? And did it matter, now? Did any of this matter?

The only thing that mattered was the game, winning the game, getting what he wanted, what he thought Sydney needed. To win, Irina would see only what she expected to see, see only the reflection of her own wants, her own needs, her own desires. The man he had been, the man she had known. The man, he took a deep breath, she had loved. In her way.  But left even still. Because her way of love was not…enough, the love she had given him was not enough.  Without trust, love was not everything, was not the answer, but rather a lesson waiting to be learned.

He had learned it the hard way. He had faltered, fallen down. She had not only failed to catch him. She had given him the push.

Now it was his turn to push. Any way he could. He could take whatever steps were necessary to win this game. But this had been a useful lesson, a reminder that he had to watch himself, guard himself from falling again. He had learned a lesson, hadn't he, that no one was there to catch him but himself?  Had learned that self-delusion was a powerful weapon. A weapon that you could use or if you were not careful, a weapon so sharp you could turn it against yourself and never even feel it.

He guessed, thinking about it now as he pushed aside the colorful curtains to Mr. Zamir's booth, that they had both been engaged in deceptions and self-delusions. As he peered out from behind the curtains, watched the dust swirl and eddy down the street, he thought about the hiding, the layers of concealment in which they had both engaged, the secrets hidden within the blur of the vortex.  Then and now.

Both master gamesplayers, perhaps it was impossible for them to be completely open and honest with anyone. She had concealed her true purpose, her true origins; but, he thought now, her emotions had been real.  She had been real, mostly, with her quirks, her fears, her gamut of emotions, her trust.  It was he who had concealed at least part of his true self, that coldness, that distrust, and that fear within that fed upon each other except when his wife, his daughter were there to warm him.  That warmth that she had created for him.

Her deception had created their life together and then ruined it.  And his deception, well, ironically, that very deception that he had promulgated to hide his difficulty in trusting, his difficulty in forgiving, the hard, cold core within that made him ruthless in pursuit of winning - that deception would now, he hoped, save his life, give it back to him.  She did not know the man he was, because she had not seen its origins in the man he had been. Through a combination of his own deception and her own self-delusion, he would win this game. As she would discover, knowing you were involved in the game made all the difference.

This time he would not catch her. This time when she looked for him she would find only smoke and mirrors.  Like the kind of love she had felt for him. Nothing you could catch and hold on to. Forever elusive and unsatisfying.    Insubstantial and a mere reflection of the real thing.

This time, it was his turn to spin the story, to set the vortex whirling.  Her turn to be spiral downward without direction, to fall into nothingness.  With no one to catch her. To be lost.

"Jack!" she called out softly. Standing there, he turned his head in surprise. She tentatively touched his arm.  How had she gotten there without his hearing her?  What the hell was wrong with him?

When he said nothing, just looked at her waiting for her to make the first move, she continued, "Where were you? I've been saying your name now for a while.  What were you looking at?" She peered out between the curtains herself, holding onto his arm for balance.

He lifted her hand from his arm as he said firmly, "Nothing, nothing, at all."

"You were lost in your thoughts. You can't wander away in your own mind on an op. You know better than that," she chided him, reaching out to tap him on the chest.

"Yes, I do. It won't happen again," he said and stepped back. She would have to work a little harder than that.

"Dad, are you okay?" Sydney asked, breaking into their circle of two.

Without breaking eye contact with Irina he said, "Yes, honey, I'm fine. Your mother, I hate to admit it of course, was correct. I was lost in my own thoughts for a moment there. But I'm right here now. My head is in the game." They stared at each other and nodded. Looked away, both peering outside the curtain.  Then closed it abruptly as the wind swept dust into their eyes.

Chapter 8 part 1